This Empty House
by CompleteLackOfSurprise
Summary: Slight AU where Lester is an alcoholic suffering after his and Lorne's relationship comes to a rocky end. Drunk dialling leads to some turbulent events but in the end, can Lorne step up or will he let Lester's vices swallow him whole? TW for slight suicidal themes
1. Chapter 1: 3AM

The phone has been in his hand for the past fifteen minutes and every once in a while he gets up the courage to dial that same old number and hold it to his ear, but as soon as the dial tone sounds he brings it away and ends the call before it's even begun. _Fuck_, he thinks, _just do it already_. But then that feeling crawls its way back up into his stomach where it lingers like some nesting spider and the courage has all but dissipated. He lays his phone down on the bed and reaches over for the bottle of whiskey on his bedside table, half-empty and promising a quick boost in confidence as well as a dozen or so other delusional benefits. He takes a swig, grimaces and then sets the bottle down again. _Okay, you can do this. Just call him. It's easy, just pick up the phone and call him._

The drone of the dial tone sounds louder than usual against his ear, though he attributes this mainly to the alcohol swimming through his veins. After thirty seconds he almost gives up - it is 3am after all - but then the line crackles and a voice answers.

"Hello?"

Lester opens his mouth but all that escapes is a small whimper.

Lorne sighs and there's a rustling as he holds the phone to his other ear. "What is it, Lester?"

He can't talk, doesn't know how to but somehow, from deep within him, something tells him that he's got to say something before Lorne hangs up and sees this as nothing more than a drunk-dial gone wrong.

"Hi, Lorne." Lester closes his eyes tight to trap the tears that have begun to pool there.

His lower lip trembles.

"You've gotta stop doing this, Lester. It's not good for either of us." Lorne's voice is calm but stern, a low murmur on the end of the receiver.

"Stop doing what? I'm just…I just called you to, ya know, see how you are." His eyes are still closed.

Malvo knows this was never Lester's intention. They've been through this before, more times than he'd care to remember, but things worsened after their breakup. Lorne didn't mind the occasional phone call when they were a couple; it'd just be Lester wanting to see how his day had been or something else just as endearing, but this…this was different. It wasn't him being needy either, that wasn't what pissed the man off, it was the fact that he was the one who ended the relationship, he was the one who had screeched at his partner, the so-called 'love-of-his-life', in a jealous, drunken rage and uttered the words; YOU DON'T NEED ME AND GUESS WHAT, I DON'T NEED YOU. NOW GET OUT! But here he was, on the other end of the phone line, probably an arm's length away from a liquor bottle, looking for sympathy yet again.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Just…go to sleep, Lester. It's three in the morning. Just because you know I don't sleep doesn't mean you can take advantage of it. I'm not your fucking booty call, Nygaard." Lorne keeps his voice even, as if he's reading from a script.

The last phrase hits Lester right in the gut and his jaw tightens, letting the tears spill now as they cascade down his cheeks.

"That's not…that's not why I called." He sniffs and the game is given away.

_Fuck_, Lorne thinks. Why does he have to do this? Why can't he just be a regular psycho ex-boyfriend who stalks your Facebook page and spreads ugly rumours about you? Why does he have to tear himself to shreds every night only to piece himself back together in order to torture himself some more only a couple of hours later. And more importantly, why does he continue to torture the both of them so dedicatedly?

"Are you working on anything right now? Like…" Lester sniffs again. "Like a family or anything? Are you living with anyone for this one?" He wipes his nose on the sleeve of his jumper.

It's in that fleeting moment that Lester realises he's wearing Lorne's jumper and as he inhales and takes in the man's heady scent of patchouli and pressed linen, he begins sobbing uncontrollably, the phone crushed against his side so as to muffle the sound of his heart unravelling. When he finally calms himself enough to replace the phone to his ear, Lorne's voice is loud, slightly pensive on the other line.

"Lester? Lester, are you there? Why the fuck did you call me up if you're just gonna…" And then his voice drones off.

"I'm sorry, Lorne." Lester says, his voice barely a whisper.

He wants to tell him what's wrong, that he's lonelier than he's ever been in his entire life and that he's sorry for kicking Lorne out, for abandoning him after all he's done to help him. _It was the addiction_, he told himself, eyeing the amber liquid in the bottle by his bed; the fucking vice that just would not let him go no matter how hard he struggled. It took all his strength not to throw the blasted thing against the wall, but he feared more than anything that the echo of it, the stark silence of his hollowed house, would trigger something in him that he would not be able to suffer alone.

"I don't suppose you could…come over?" Lester laughs mournfully.

"No, Les. I can't. If I come round you'll do what you always do; use those fucking puppy-dog eyes of yours to lure me into holding you and then you'll kiss me and try to get me to make love to you which, honestly, I don't think I have the emotional strength for anymore." Lorne's voice rings in the other man's ears like an unexpected slap to the face, its frayed edges still stinging Lester's fragile mind.

He can't take a no, not tonight. He needs the company of someone stable, someone who can tell him everything will be alright and mean it.

"Please, Lorne." Lester's voice is torn, searing his throat worse than the whiskey ever could.

The line is silent but the gentle hum against Lester's ear tells him that Lorne hasn't hung up just yet, he's still listening but probably battling against both the angel and devil on either of his shoulders. The devil usually won, Nygaard reminded himself, but a spark of hope inside his stomach told him that maybe, just this once, the angel might prevail.

Lorne sighs for the hundredth time and says; "I'll be right there."


	2. Chapter 2: Civility

It's been twenty minutes and Lorne still hasn't showed up. _This is it_, Lester thinks to himself. _He said he'd come just to appease my mind and now he's not coming back, he's never coming back._ He's striding up and down his bedroom without even realising but as soon as he does, he stops stock still, his eyes flashing to the whiskey bottle. Lester picks it up, feels the hefty weight of it despite it being only half-filled and then glances up at the wall opposite. Before he can blink, the bottle is slicing through the air like a Molotov cocktail and then the wall is dripping with copper liquid and the carpet is feathered with shards of glass.

That's when the idea rose up in Lester's mind, though it didn't really feel like an epiphany or anything, but more like a string of actions beyond his control. He walked over to the mess he'd just created, leant down to pick up a handful of glass, and then picked out the widest shard, letting the other pieces tumble to the ground like pumiced crystal. He rolled up the sleeve of his jumper, careful not to focus on the fact that it was, in fact, Lorne's jumper, the clothing of a man he loved more than he had loved any woman, and let the glass hover just above his wrist. Lester closed his eyes then and for the first time in his life, prayed to a God he was sure didn't exist; he prayed for some kind of relief, for the reciprocation of a love greater than all of this, for his own bloodshed to put an end to the pain he'd already caused so many people.

That's when the door opened.

Lester didn't hear Lorne's footsteps on the stairs, but then again, the man's job required absolute cunning. He was used to staying in the shadows.

"Stop." Was all the man said, causing Lester to turn on his heels, his wrist still untouched.

There were tears staining Lester's reddening cheeks but Lorne pretended to ignore this. He had to. If he let his guard slip now, Nygaard was done for; if he let the man see his weakness then he'd never believe that he was able to overcome his own, and Lorne wasn't about to let that happen.

"Why?" Lester sniffed. "What use am I to you? What use am I to anybody?" The man's words slurred slightly as his breath hitched in his throat.

"Look at what I've done, Lorne. Look at what I did to the only people who ever loved me…I threw them away like they were nothin.'"

Malvo took a step forward, his hand out in front of him as if in protest.

"They didn't love you, Lester. None of them did, and you know that. Deep down you know that."

The two of them stood there for what seemed like a lifetime, just watching each other inhale and then exhale as if it were the very answer to life's most puzzling questions. Lorne was watching his friend with caution, almost as if he were some cornered animal in need of taming.

"And you?" Lester said at last, his arms finally dropping to his sides.

Lorne wanted to be honest with him but it was beyond difficult; his thoughts pricked at his pride like thorns against the soft pads of his fingers, bleeding him slowly.

"Did I lose you too?" Lester filled the silence himself.

"Would I be here if I was lost to you, Les?" Malvo held his palms out, trying to convey honesty.

It didn't work.

"No, I know why you're here." Lester was smiling now but there was something sinister in those eyes, a ferocity Lorne had never noticed before.

"You think I don't know what kind of person you are, Lorne? You think I don't know you by now? Well, I know you. I see you, buddy. Heck, I see what you did to me back in the hospital waiting room that night." He steps forward, his brow furrowed in disdain.

"You are a goddamn sadist." The words are almost stuttered as Lester clenches his fists by his sides, the hand grasping the shard of glass now slowly filling with dampness.

"Lester…" Lorne begins.

The man is through with listening.

"No, Lorne. Okay? No. There is nothing you can say to make this better, alright? Nothing!"

"Lester, would you just…"

"No! I won't just…"

"Lester, your fucking hand is bleeding! Now either let me patch it up or risk losing your fingers and your carpet."

Lester is hushed, his eyes gazing down in wonderment at the gaping wound in front of him. He didn't feel it at the time but now the cut is raw, seething hot blood like an oil slick. Lorne rushes to the en-suite and once there, grabs the first towel he can find. Once he's back at Lester's side, he inspects the wound. Luckily it's not as deep as either of them have anticipated, but there's still a lot of heavy bleeding.

"It's a good thing you didn't jam that thing right in here or else you'd be in a real pickle." Malvo wraps the fabric round the man's sullied palm and then ties it tight, producing a small mewl from Lester's lips.

Nygaard drops the glass, realising that he's still holding it in his free hand.

"I wouldn't have done it." He says, more to himself than Lorne.

"I know." Malvo studies his face.

"I'm not brave enough for that, ya know…suicide." Even the word sends painful shivers down the man's spine.

Lorne tries not to smile but it's something he does so well that he can't fight it for too long.

"Surely it's braver that you live." He chuckles. "Surely you know how brave that is."

Lester isn't quite sure how to answer that, but he senses from the intensity of Lorne's stare, the way he's trying to repress that glaze of tears, that he's referring more to himself than his friend.

"What's so brave about living this life, huh? Stuck in an empty house after killing the only family you'll ever have, pushing away the only guy you've ever and will ever love. What's so fucking heroic about that then, Lorne?" Lester lowers his head, ashamed at his own drunken candidness.

"What sickens me about you, Lester, and I mean what really chaps my ass about you, is that you actually think I'd be here if I didn't love you."

Neither of them can speak. Lester wets his lower lip, his eyes caught up in Lorne's own omnipotent stare. The younger man moves forward first, surprising the both of them. He grasps Lorne by his sheepskin collar, pulls him towards himself before pushing him away again and then, with momentary determination, pulls him back and thrusts their lips together. They both let out a strangled breath as if a huge weight has been lifted off both of their shoulders, and in a way that's the only way to explain their relationship; a constant struggle between give and take resolved only by utter relinquishment of control. Lester reaches his unharmed hand up to cup his lover's face, whilst Lorne sticks to what he enjoys most, running his hands across the man's chest and abdomen.

"Ya know…" Nygaard leans away for a second, already yearning for Lorne's lips against his once more. "You can be really sweet when you want to be."

Lorne takes the man's bloodied fist in his and tenderly raises it towards his lips before placing a kiss on the back of his hand.

"Oh, yeah?" He smiles. "Well, I wouldn't get used to that if I were you."

Lester frowns, not knowing whether to return the expression or respond to the knot of fear slowly twisting in his stomach.

"After all…" Lorne turns the man's hand back over so that his palm is facing upwards.

Without warning, Malvo presses his thumb firmly into the centre of Lester's pain stricken appendage, causing a subdued yelp to echo throughout the empty house, only this time there's no time for Lester to focus on just how vacant the building really is.

"Like you said, I'm a sadist." The grin that inhabits Lorne's face is absolutely inhuman.

Lester takes a minute or two to recover from the pain but once he does he's bewildered to find himself laughing, though softly and to himself.

"Geez, Lorne." He says, narrowing his gaze. "You can't be civil for even one day in your goddamn life, can you?"


	3. Chapter 3: Something Like That

Lester can hear something low, a bass sound that radiates through his entire body. It's the most elating, utterly relaxing sound he's ever heard, and as he pulls Lorne's arms tighter around his waist, he feels his own heart rate synchronising with the other sound.

"Are you humming?" He asks, hoping that Lorne is still awake.

The taller man brings Lester in closer to him and sighs peacefully into his ear.

"Nope. Not me."

Lester leans into him, his back touching Lorne's chest where he finds the sound, the origin of that harmonious thump. He doesn't say a word but there's a crack of a smile on his lips.

"You know…this doesn't mean I like you or anything. We're not quite there yet." Malvo teases.

Lester is trying to speak, trying to say anything but he's too warm, too contented snuggled up against his big spoon like a parcel at the bottom of a Christmas tree.

"Aw heck, Malvo." He sighs blissfully. "And here you had me thinking that you were in love with me or something like that."

Lorne stifles a laugh, his warm breath tickling the back of Lester's neck.

"Or something like that." He repeats, feeling his lover's heart rate slowing just a tad as he dips towards the sea foam brink of sleep.


End file.
